


Bring the Light

by SkyeBean



Series: Dawn Marks the End of the Night [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Arson, Gen, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), angel finding his true rebellious self after having to obey other people for so long, angel meeting the x-men, erik finding out that he's a celebrity in the mutant world, protesting anti-mutant politicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeBean/pseuds/SkyeBean
Summary: After Psylocke told Erik that Angel wasn't dead, he expected he'd be seeing the young mutant at some point. He didn't expect Warren to land on top of his car...featuring actual references to the whole 'forcing mutants to fight in cages' thing, 'cause i feel like that wasn't really touched on after the fact
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Warren Worthington III, Kurt Wagner & Warren Worthington III, Ororo Munroe & Warren Worthington III, referenced Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Dawn Marks the End of the Night [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065707
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in case you haven't read the previous story in this series, angel just about survived the plane crash and then psylocke took him to a healer.  
> hope you enjoy, and please comment and/or give kudos! thank you!

Erik was in the States, driving across the country to protest a bullshit convention on mutant rights, when he felt a tug of swiftly approaching metal.

It wasn’t like any he’d ever felt before, and it made him take pause. Over the five and a half decades of his life, he’d encountered most metals, and could recognise them all, but this was an entirely new feeling.

Except—the metal was moving even closer, coming down like it was aiming for his car—

Erik batted the door open with a thought, diving out of the car just in time for a winged man to crush it.

Glass shattered as the flimsy metal crumpled like paper, and Erik pulled some of the scraps to him, readying for a fight, only—

That was _Angel_.

“Shit, sorry,” the other mutant shouted, throwing his hands up as he spun around to face Erik. Somehow, he looked even younger than the last time Erik had seen him; perhaps it was the half-decent haircut.

“What are you doing?” Erik asked, incredulous as he pushed to his feet. “Why did you land on my car if you’re just going to apologise?”

Angel winced. “I’m still working on controlling my wings.”

“You’re still working on controlling them,” Erik parroted, unimpressed.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know, but these aren’t the ones I was born with,” Angel said, gesturing to the delicate metal shining in the sun. “My old ones were injured, so Apocalypse gave me these ones.”

Erik frowned. Why hadn't he recognised the metal? Surely his powers couldn't _still_ be adjusting after Apocalypse's power boost.

“I’m still learning to control them,” Angel finished, hopping down from on top of Erik’s car. “Also, I got hurt pretty bad in that plane crash. I’m still recovering from _that.”_

“It’s been two years,” Erik said.

“Like I said, I got hurt pretty bad.” Angel walked over, his movements a little stiff, and offered his hand to Erik. “I figured I should probably introduce myself again, because last time we met was kinda complicated.”

Raising an eyebrow, Erik said, “ _Very_ complicated.”

“Eh, it wasn’t _that_ complicated,” Angel said. “The four of us decided to join a guy who wanted to destroy the world. Yeah, we had our reasons, but the overall story is pretty simple.”

Erik considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “I supposed you’re right.” He took Angel’s hand and shook it. “I’m Erik.”

“Awesome,” Angel said, a grin lighting up his face as he violently shook Erik’s hand. “Magento just introduced himself to me! I’m Warren.”

“You’ve…changed,” Erik commented once he’d disentangled his hand from Warren’s grip. “Weren’t you silent and brooding before?”

Warren laughed, the sound high and bright. “Weren’t we all?”

“That’s fair,” Erik conceded. “What changed for you?”

“Well, Betsy’s been looking after me for the last…” He tilted his head to one side, not unlike a bird, as he considered his response. “You said two years?”

“It’s been two years and three months since the apocalypse,” Erik said.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Warren said, nodding. “Anyway, she’s been visiting every few weeks, and she’s, like, nicer than the people in charge of the ring I used to fight in. Also, the mutant healer I’ve been seeing is _really_ friendly.”

“You used to fight in a ring?” Erik asked, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah,” Warren said. He winced. “I’d rather not talk about it. Aren’t you going to a convention or something?”

Erik nodded. “I _was_ planning to protest at a human-only convention on _our_ rights, until someone crushed my car.”

“Sorry,” Warren said, wincing. “Again.”

With a minute of concentration, Erik made his car return to its original shape. Watching the process wasn’t unlike watching a balloon inflate, as the metal uncrumpled itself and popped back into place, but the windows remained shattered and leather of the seats was ripped to pieces.

“Woah,” Warren breathed. His eyes were wide, his mouth open as he stared at the reformed car. “That was amazing!”

“It was nothing,” Erik said, opening the door with just a thought and then crossing the road to slide into the driver’s seat. His boots crunched on the broken glass. “Some of the gas probably drained before I patched it up, but it should get me to somewhere I can find some other transport.”

Warren poked his head through the window frame. “I can fly you there, if you want.”

“You could also fly me into a cliff,” Erik said. “I’m not going to rely on the powers of someone who can’t properly control them yet.”

Warren’s face fell. “Oh. I had hoped that…Never mind.”

Erik wasn’t sure what Warren had been hoping for so when he asked, “Do you want to come to the protest?” he had no idea what Warren’s reaction would be.

Luckily, Warren seemed absolutely delighted by the offer; his mouth stretched into a wide, toothy grin, and his eyes lit up. “Absolutely!” He glanced at the backseat. “I don’t think I can fit in your car, I should probably fly overhead.”

“I’m not entirely sure you have enough control of your wings to do that,” Erik said, frowning.

“Can’t you like…” Warren held out his hands, making a zapping sound with his mouth. “You know? These wings are metal and all.”

Cocking a judgmental eyebrow, Erik said, “You mean, use my powers?”

“Yeah, that.”

“No,” Erik said, “I don’t think I can.”

Warren’s face became confused. “What? But you’re, like, the master of metal.”

“The metal in your wings is…strange,” Erik said. “I can sense it, so it _is_ metal, but I can’t control it.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Warren said. “Magneto said my wings are strange? I am _using_ that.”

“…why?”

“Well, you’re…you,” Warren said.

“Yes, I am me,” Erik said. “How is that relevant?”

“Everyone knows that you’re a _really_ powerful mutant. It’s cool that you can’t control the metal in my wings.”

It took Erik a moment to process that, but once he had, he just shrugged and waved his hand so half of the back of the passenger seat fell away, leaving plenty of room for Warren’s wings. “Get in, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> erik growing attached very quickly, feat. discussion of anti-mutant sentiment and asshole parents

A day later, the mutant rights convention – and the protest – was well underway when Warren suddenly disappeared. One second, he was walking next to Erik, drinking in the protestors’ signs in with awe, and the next he was gone.

Muttering German curses under his breath, Erik straightened, scanning the crowd for the young man. In the time that he’d known Warren for – admittedly only a day, with no important conversations – he’d realised that he was…unpredictable.

The tint of Warren’s wings at the very edge of Erik’s senses was hard to get a fix on, when he was in a crowd of protestors covered in metal, but as he shoved his way through the throng and out of the crowd, the signal became easier to focus on.

Pushing through the protesting mutants didn’t take as much effort as Erik had thought it would, and within a few minutes he was away from the crowds surrounding the convention centre and heading across the park that enclosed it.

Perhaps Erik’s two years on Genosha had changed his opinions, but he couldn’t help but dislike the tidy flowerbeds set in crisp geometrics patterns. He was used to the wild forest, with roots poking out of the ground and leaves brushing your face and holly bushes sprouting in the worst possible places. Not…whatever _this_ uniformity was.

One point in their favour, though, was that it made the paths clear so it wasn’t that difficult to work his through the gardens.

If he were _anywhere_ else, Erik would have flown, but he had a reputation. Using his powers like that, right outside a mutant rights convention, would be a statement. And statements had consequences he couldn’t be bothered to face.

Absently, Erik noticed that Warren was heading towards the big hill behind the centre, but he had little to do other than continue towards the strange signal coming from the metal wings.

The path grew steeper and less clear, and soon the convention centre disappeared into the trees behind him. A leafy canopy spread over his head, blocking out some of the bright sunlight. This felt more like Genosha, or Charles’ mansion’s forest, and Erik’s muscles slowly eased as he went further and further into the patch of trees.

After a few more minutes of walking, Erik caught sight of metal gleaming in the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves high above his head.

“Warren?” he called out. Metal shifted, feather sliding over feather.

It took a moment before there was a response. Erik took the opportunity to check the time. Technically speaking, he was able to sense the exact location of the metal hands on his watch face, but that was effort and he’d never got around to learning.

“What do you want?” Warren called back. His voice was thin, reedy; the words held no force, more of a token gesture than anything else.

Erik halted anyway, because he’d known the mutant for one day and it was always good to listen to people when they were panicking. “I want to know why you took off.”

Another rustle of movement; Erik was still a way away, but he could have sworn he saw Warren wipe at his face.

“No reason.”

“Bullshit,” Erik said with a snort.

“So what if it is?”

Erik shrugged. “It doesn’t matter that much. I’m asking if you want or need my help. I can go, if that’s what you’d prefer—”

“No!” The word erupted out of Warren, cutting Erik off as he bolted upright, wings flaring. A moment later, Erik felt the oddest sensation of heat warming the thin piece of metal Apocalypse had implanted in Warren’s face.

“Sorry,” Warren mumbled, barely audibly. “You can go if you want. I don’t—you don’t have to stay.”

“I don’t,” Erik agreed, “but I’m going to.”

“But—your protest—”

Erik scoffed, starting to move closer again. “Oh, please. It’s hardly _my_ protest. It was organised by a group of mutants far younger and brighter and hopeful than I ever was.”

“Oh,” Warren said, his brow creasing. “But you’re Magneto. Didn’t you spend half your life fighting for our rights?”

“Ease up on the past tense, I’m not dead yet,” Erik said, “and no. Where did you hear that bullshit?” He came to a stop a metre or two away from Warren, and checked the young mutant over. No visible injuries.

Warren blinked. “Everyone knows that,” he said. “Like, _everyone_.”

“Everyone’s wrong then. I spent my twenties hunting Nazis, my thirties in jail, and my forties in a factory in Poland. There was a year of terrorism squeezed in there, sure, but no peaceful protests. This—” he gestured vaguely around them “—is the first time I’ve been protesting.”

Warren’s mouth was forming a perfect ‘o’ shape, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“I’m mainly here to make sure none of the protestors get hurt,” Erik continued. “I’ve been in contact with various mutant rights groups for the last year, providing them with supplies, and one asked me to come today. The US government has a shit track record, but even they know who I am – they know they’d be stupid to deploy police if I’m there.”

Surprise was morphing into something like horror on Warren’s face. “They would do that? H-he would do that?”

“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard, they’ve gotten good at covering it up,” Erik said, then: “Who’s ‘he’?”

“What?” Warren attempted a laugh. “That’s terrible of the government.”

“That was a terrible attempt at deflection," Erik said. "If you don’t want to explain, just tell me and I’ll leave it be.”

Warren let out a shuddering breath. “No, I do, it’s just—I saw my father.”

“You saw your _what_?” Erik’s eyebrows shot up; biological families were rarely a topic that mutants wanted to talk about.

“My father. At the conference. Going in. He’s one of the politicians speaking against us.”

“Well, fuck.”

Warren hesitated, then added, “Warren Worthington the Second.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Erik repeated with feeling. “Worthington’s a piece of shit.” Every mutant had read his book on defeating the mutant threat; every mutant had had lines spat at them by humans.

“I know,” Warren said quietly. He wiped his face on his sleeve, and it was only then that Erik saw the sheen of tears coating his cheeks. “I didn’t realise he’d be here.”

Trying to look like he understood fathers, Erik put on a sympathetic face and nodded. “Charles says that people will surprise you. That’s not always a good thing.”

“I knew he didn’t _like_ us. Just…not…” Warren said. He sniffed again, then flushed bright red. “I mean—I’m sorry, this is really pathetic.”

“I dropped a stadium on my ex,” Erik said. “That was pathetic. This?” Erik waved his hand at Warren. “This is just…having feelings.”

“You did _what_?” Warren asked, his eyes somehow widening.

“Dropped a stadium on my ex,” Erik repeated, feeling a nostalgic smile grow on his face. “Wasn’t my best moment.” He offered Warren a hand up, and the young man looked at it for a moment before hauling himself to his feet. “You’re light.”

“Hollow bones,” Warren said. “Couldn’t fly otherwise.”

“Oh?” Erik said, feeling a flicker of scientific interest that _purely_ came from Charles. “That’s interesting.”

“Was the, uh, stadium thing when you tried to kill Nixon?”

“Yeah,” Erik said, nodding, “it was.”

Warren gaped at him. for a moment before asking, “Who’s your ex?”

“Ah,” Erik said, realising that he'd once again stumbled right into this question, “yes. Charles.”

“Charles _Xavier_?!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warren comes to erik to solve a problem, featuring other mutants on genosha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apocalypse cannot give makeover to save his life, yet two whole characters let him change their hair and (in warren's case) face

Erik was rereading one of his favourite books, trying to find if it was one that he should recommend to Charles, when his senses suddenly pinged with the feeling of quickly approaching metal; familiar metal.

He tucked his metal bookmark in place with a thought, leaving the closed book on his desk as he moved across his house-that-had-once-been-a-ship. Sure enough, when he stepped out onto his balcony, he saw Warren performing a loop-the-loop in the air before gliding down to land beside the first field.

Other mutants on the island tensed at the sudden arrival of a stranger, Ariki moving to block Warren before he could get closer to the more vulnerable mutants on the island – the ones who couldn’t help in the fields. Before a confrontation could start, Erik zoomed over to them.

“Hey, Erik,” Warren greeted cheerfully, giving him a wave.

“Hello Warren,” Erik returned evenly, then turned to Ariki. “Don’t worry, he’s not a threat.”

Ariki directed a pointed look at Warren’s razor-sharp feathers.

“I could be a threat.” Warren sounded almost offended.

“No, you couldn’t,” Erik told him, rolling his eyes, then addressed his second-in-command again: “I know him, he’s not going to hurt anyone.”

Ariki hesitated for another moment, then nodded, taking a step back. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Erik said. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, and he respectfully inclined his head before looking to Warren. “What are you doing here?”

It had been a month since he’d left Warren at the convention, and he had no idea what the young mutant had been doing in that time.

“I wanted to see my favourite horseman,” Warren said, grinning widely. “Not including Betsy, of course. And I don’t know Storm.”

Erik rolled his eyes again, but lead Warren away from the wary inhabitants of Genosha, back to his house. He was surprised by how tight Warren was able to fold his wings to fit through the narrow doorway.

“This is nice,” Warren said. “Is it yours?” He looked around the inside of living room that made up three quarters of Erik’s house; the other quarter was the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Erik replied as he moved over to his small gas stove. “Do you want tea?”

“Yes, please.”

The motions of tea-making had once been unfamiliar to Erik, but he’d grown accustomed to the drink in his time on Genosha, so boiling the kettle and then pouring the water out into two cups was almost effortless. While the tea leaves were stewing, he carried the cups over and handed one of them to Warren before settling down in the seat opposite him.

“So, _is_ there a reason for you coming here?” Erik asked again. With his powers, he absently stirred his boiling tea with a teaspoon he’d stolen from Charles’ house. “Most people don’t come all the way out here just for my company.”

Warren’s mouth flickered in a smile, and he made to drink his tea.

“Careful, that’s—” Warren spat the boiling drink out, half-choking “—hot.”

“I got that,” Warren coughed out, dropping his cup onto the side table. Some spilled, but Erik couldn’t bring himself to mind.

He crossed the room in just two steps, and used his third – and final – cup to scoop water out of his bucket, then handed it to the choking mutant. “Here, it’s cold.”

Warren gulped down the water. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Erik said, mildly amused. “Give tea time to cool down.”

“I got that now,” Warren muttered, more to himself than anything else.

Erik retook his seat, his normal one with arms and a high back, and leaned back. “So?”

“I…you control metal.”

Raising a judgmental eyebrow, Erik said, “Really? I hadn’t heard.”

“Right,” Warren said, cheeks flushing. “I mean, you can control it precisely, right?”

“Yeah,” Erik said, softening slightly. With a single thought, he pulled a scrap of metal from his desk and threaded it around his fingers as a demonstration.

“Could you…” Warren trailed off, gesturing vaguely to his face.

It took Erik a moment to realise what he was asking. “You want me to do something about the metal?”

“Please.” The word was quiet, but held a note of pain Erik hadn’t expected from Warren. “Apocalypse put it there, and I didn’t know how to say no, but it hurts and I don’t like it. The doctor said they couldn’t remove it, because they think it’s attached to the bone, but then I thought of you.”

Erik sighed. “I’m not sure if I can do that. I could very easily hurt you—”

“It already hurts,” Warren said, cutting him off. “Like—a lot. When I move my face.”

“It would scar. Badly. I think. I’m not a doctor.”

Warren shook his head, eyes still fixed on his clenched hands. “I don’t care if it scars. I want it gone.”

“Okay, then,” Erik said. Warren’s head shot up, a weird sort of hope gleaming, and Erik felt bad. “I can try. I don’t know if I’ll be able to, I don’t know how…well Apocalypse grounded it, and I’ve never done anything quite like this before. Removing shrapnel isn't the same thing. But I’ll take a look, at least.”

“Thank you,” Warren breathed.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Erik set his cup to one side, getting to his feet to crouch in front of Warren and hold a hand out, a few centimetres from his face.

Closing his eyes, he leaned into his mutation, reaching out with his senses to feel for the metal that Apocalypse had implanted in Warren’s face. Except—

“How the fuck did he do that?” Erik wondered aloud, pulling back. He was pretty sure he looked bewildered, because something like fear flashed across Warren’s face.

“That’s not a good sign,” Warren said, giving a nervous laugh. “What did he do?”

“I think,” Erik said, closing his eyes again and refocusing, “that Apocalypse didn’t just put this metal in, he changed the composition of your very cells.”

“So…?”

“So you’re probably the first person I’ve met with natural metal attached to them.”

“Oh,” Warren said, uncertain. “ _Oh_. Is that—is that going to cause problems?”

Erik shrugged. “I have no idea. I was already flying blind here, this may change everything or nothing.”

“Well,” Warren said. _“That’s_ reassuring.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Erik told him, then frowned, opening his eyes again to check Warren. “Should I be reassuring you? Is that…a thing I’m supposed to do?”

When _he_ was in his twenties, he wouldn’t have even considered letting anyone see him so vulnerable, let alone show weakness by needing reassurance, but then – as Raven liked to remind him – he had a fucked-up childhood that fucked _him_ up for decades. So he was in no way representative of the general population; not even of the mutant population, if experience told him anything.

Warren considered it for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “I think so? You’re an adult.”

“So are you,” Erik pointed out.

“Not really,” Warren said. “I’m only twenty-two. That’s not a proper adult. You’re, like, fifty. So you should probably be reassuring me?”

Erik blinked. “Okay, then. It’s all going to be alright, and I’ll stop the second you tell me to. If it hurts at all, tell me and I can adjust what I’m doing. And…it’s all going to be alright? Did I say that one already?”

“You did,” Warren told him with a choked-off laugh.

“You’ll get through this,” Erik said, evenly meeting his gaze for a moment. “I’m assuming it’s going to hurt, but as long as you tell me what’s happening, you’ll get through this. Understand?”

It took Warren a moment to figure out that he was supposed to nod.

And then Erik closed his eyes again, and focused entirely on the metal strip implanted in Warren’s face. He pulled, and then the screaming began.

An hour later, Erik pulled back to inspect Warren’s face. “I’m finished.”

“It’s done?” Warren asked, relief clear in every line of his body. His voice was hoarse from screaming. He’d been clutching cotton wool to his bleeding face for a while, and although Erik had tried to be careful, the experience had been far from painless.

“Yeah,” Erik said, picking up the bowl of metal shavings to study them. “It’s done.” With a thought, one of the shavings twirled in the air, and he made it dance for a moment before compressing it all into a single ball, only two or three centimetres in diameter. “Here you go.”

Warren took the ball from him with his free hand, rolling it around in his hand and staring at it with a sort of awe. “It’s gone. It’s…finally gone.”

“The marks haven’t, though,” Erik murmured. He pushed to his feet, groaning at the stretch after he’d been kneeling, and crossed the room to his balcony.

He projected a thought, and a few minutes later Selene appeared from one of the houses. Moving to closer, he asked, “Is Ahana busy?”

“Yes,” Selene said. “There was an accident in the fields.”

“Shit,” Erik swore, straightening. “When was that? Someone should have told me.”

Selene gave him a wry smile. “We all heard the screaming. You were busy?”

“I was,” Erik had to agree. He ran his fingers through his hair. “It could have waited. How many people were hurt?”

“Only three,” Selene said. “Two stable, Ahana’s working on the third. Newcomer lost control of their mutation. I put them to sleep.”

Sometimes, Erik thought that he should take pity on Selene and let her speak directly into his mind, like she did with everyone else. Then he would remember how he’d panic when Charles, even, went too deep, and realise that it would never work.

“Good work,” he praised. “Does Ahana have any spare bandages?”

Selene’s eyelids flickered for a moment, like they always did when she used her telepathy, and then she said, “Yes.”

“Good,” Erik said.

He started in the direction of Ahana's healing hut. Selene followed him a moment later, the exact expression on her face that meant she wanted to ask him a question but wasn’t sure how to do it without the thoughts and feelings she could conjure up with her telepathy.

“If you’re wondering, I was healing an old injury of Angel’s.”

Selene hesitated, then said, “He screamed a lot. You’re not a healer.”

“I was exclusively qualified for this role,” Erik said, “like I was exclusively qualified for removing the shrapnel from Thomas’ wound.”

Something cleared on Selene’s face. “Is he bleeding badly?”

“Not too badly,” Erik said. “He’s not going to die from it, but it’ll scar. Probably. Like you said, I’m not a healer.”

Selene nodded as they came to a stop outside Ahana’s house. Her eyelids flickered with an incoming message. “Ahana needs your help.”

“What?” Erik asked, stiffening. “Okay, what do I need to help with? Metal?”

“Ask,” Selene said, pointing to the open door.

Erik could just make out the figure of Ahana, her hands pressed on another mutant’s chest as she glowed with a faint light. “Alright.” He glanced back to Selene. “Can you get the bandages for Angel, and help him put them on?”

“Yes,” Selene said.

“Okay, then,” Erik said. He strode into Ahana’s medical room, rolling up his sleeves as he prepared to get blood on himself. For the second time that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas and happy holidays!

A month and a half later, Erik was staying at Charles’ mansion when he suddenly felt the faint call of metal wings.

He sat up very straight at the dining room table, unknowingly drawing attention to himself as he considered whether Warren was there for him or some other reason, before shoving his chair back and pushing out of his seat.

“What’s wrong?” Hank asked, immediately detaching himself from his conversation to give Erik a suspicious look. Even after two and a half years of frequent visits, the man still didn’t trust Erik. Not that Erik blamed him; suspicion was understandable, after everything he’d done.

“Out,” was all Erik said in response. He strode across the large dining room, plucking the horrible cardigan he’d had to borrow from Charles off the coatrack and shrugging it on, only to bump into Ororo.

“There is something strange,” she said, her brow creased. “It is like when I know that you are arriving before anyone else does, but it is not you.”

“It’s not me,” Erik agreed. “I’ve…you’ll find out, maybe? I can explain later, but I need to go right now.”

Ororo bit her lip, but nodded. Erik smiled at her, before slipping past and towards the kitchen. There, he made sure he had keys before leaving through the backdoor.

Familiarity that Erik had learned almost two and a half decades before returned to him as he moved through the forest that surrounded Charles’ mansion. When they’d been training to fight Shaw, and prevent nuclear war, he’d spent a lot of time out in the forest while he came to terms with having _friends_.

That meant it didn’t take too long to make his way off Charles’ land, and through the easily-parted fence into the neighbouring manor. Strangely enough, Erik could sense that he was getting closer to Warren, and then he came upon the house.

Warren was _inside_ the mansion.

Well, that was new.

It wasn’t difficult for Erik to get in the neighbours’ mansion either, opening the complicated locking system with a thought, and he moved through the ornately decorated halls with purpose until he found the young mutant on the third floor.

“Who--” Warren started to demand, turning with an expression that was honestly more frightened than angry, until he saw Erik. “Oh my god! What are you doing here? Erik! It’s been ages.”

“It’s been a month,” Erik returned evenly. “Why are _you_ here?”

Warren’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I. Uh. This—this was my childhood home.” Erik’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, it was. Until things happened. Then…it wasn’t. But my father’s living in the city at the moment, and all the staff have a week off for the holidays. So I wanted to see it.”

“Huh,” Erik said. He looked around the room again.

There was a four-poster bed in the middle of one wall, glossy wood intertwined with gold that Erik could sense was fake. Paintings in embellished frames were set on the walls, and a desk set that matched the wood of the bed was set in the corner. Somehow, it felt so much colder than Charles’ school; perhaps it was the lack of posters for ridiculous bands, and other junk Erik had learned that children brought with them. This was more like a stately home that people would buy tickets to go and visit.

“Was this yours?”

Warren nodded, a pained expression on his face as he looked around. The angry red scar stretching across his cheeks and up into his hair contorted with the motion. “It…was. Until I was sixteen.”

This was not a room for a child.

“Did you get kicked out when you manifested?” Erik asked.

“Not quite,” Warren said, moving to sit on the crisp duvet. It was a rich turquoise, with some detailed pattern stitched into it. “I was at boarding school when my wings sprouted. I knew what my father thought of mutants, had heard his rants, so ran away. It didn’t go well.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the bedposts. “Living on the streets doesn’t go well for most people.” _Especially not rich kids with barely any life experience_ , he decided not to add. He thought it, though.

“Yeah, well, mutants get the worst deal,” Warren said bitterly.

“They do?” Erik asked, frowning. There hadn’t been a time when he _wasn’t_ dangerous; when he wasn’t prepared to kill to protect himself. Not since Shaw.

Warren nodded. “Cage fighting.”

“Fuck,” Erik said. He blew out a harsh breath. “That’s still happening?”

“Yeah,” Warren said. He hesitated then added, “I fought in the New York ones for a year, then got shipped across to East Germany when tougher laws were…legalised here.” He frowned. “That doesn’t seem like the right word.”

“It works,” Erik told him. “And…shit. I didn’t know that you’d done that.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Warren pointed out. “How could you know?”

“True. But…I’ve probably put you in positions you weren’t happy to be in. Sorry.”

A smile flickered across Warren’s face. “Thanks, but I don’t mind.”

“You were cage fighting for four years,” Erik said. “That’s a long time.”

“It was long time,” Warren had to agree. “I…I’m not good with small space. Or places where I’m locked in. I normally just attribute it to my wings, tell people that I don’t like folding them up. But…it makes me panic.”

“Okay,” Erik said, nodding. “Is there any other situations you don’t like?”

“Um…” Warren flushed. “I don’t like electricity. Or lots of shouting and bright lights. Or being touched without warning. But you’re pretty good with that—you don’t normally touch me, I mean. So…that’s good.”

“Okay,” Erik repeated. “I’ll help you avoid those things.”

Warren gave him a tight smile. “Thank you. That…means a lot.”

Erik paused, looking around the room again. “This doesn’t seem like a very nice place to spend much more time in.”

“It’s not,” Warren said. “I’m not even sure what I wanted to find here. It’s just…it’s just making me angry. Because my father’s _this_ rich, but he didn’t try and find me when I ran away.”

“Are you sure he didn’t?”

Warren gave him a look that was remarkably similar to the one Betsy gave him when he was being stupid. “If he wanted me found, I would have been found. I guess…I guess my classmates tattled about my mutation, and he just decided…” He trailed off, his wings shifting uncomfortably as he decided not to finish that thought.

“Worthington’s an asshole,” Erik said when it was clear Warren wasn’t going to continue. “If I was a decade younger, he’d be the top of my hitlist.”

Warren blinked, and for a moment Erik thought he’d said something that pushed the young man too far, but then his face lit up in a savage grin.

“You know how I said that all the staff have gone home? So this place is empty, apart from us?”

Erik wasn’t sure where this was going, but he nodded anyway.

“What if we burn it down?”

And… _wow_.

“Like, the whole manor?”

“That’s…” _a terrible, horrifying, brilliant idea_ “…an idea.”

“Oh,” Warren said, his face falling. “You don’t like it.”

“I’m…” Erik wasn’t really sure what to say, because a part of him he thought he’d buried was screaming _yes, yes, do it, burn this place to the ground_ , and being a better person _really_ took its toll on you. “It’s not that I don’t like it. Worthington deserves it, for sure. I’m worried that it would be taken wrongly, and reinforce the idea that mutants are dangerous people who need to be registered.”

“ _Oh_.” Warren paled. “I hadn’t even considered that. Callisto would _kill_ me if she found out.”

“Callisto?” Erik asked, curious. He hadn’t heard Warren mention that name before.

“She’s a kind of friend of mine,” Warren said with a shrug. “A mutant rights protest organiser.”

“Huh,” Erik said. “Okay.”

“So we can’t burn down the house?” Warren looked downcast at the idea, and it made Erik feel bad. Burning down an empty wouldn’t be _that_ bad, right?

“Okay,” Erik said with a sigh. Warren lit up again. “But make sure there’s a message that makes it clear it was _you_ who did it.”

Enthusiastically nodding, Warren said, “Awesome!” He paused before asking, “How do we start a fire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> erik logic: arson can't be a crime if the house you're burning belongs to a dick


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't planning on finishing this today, but then i wanted a fic that was dated for '25th December' and said screw it  
> so...yeah

“Why do you smell of smoke?” Hank hissed out the second Erik stepped through the front door, Warren in tow.

Erik shrugged, hanging his borrowed cardigan up on the hook by the door. “I don’t know, why _do_ I smell of smoke?”

“We’re not telling them?” Warren asked, the question a whisper.

Of course, Erik had forgotten the last memory Charles’ X-Men had had of Angel: fighting him.

Hank tensed, morphing into his blue form; coming down the stairs behind him, Scott raised a hand to his mask and Kurt _froze_ in place.

"Erik..." Hank growled, the single word a warning.

Ororo, though, who was entering from the kitchen with Jean, immediately looked to Erik with a question in her eyes.

He nodded, and she darted across the entrance hall to stand right in front of Warren, looking up with delighted eyes.

“Storm!” Warren exclaimed, looking equally delighted. “It’s been so long.”

“It has,” Ororo agreed. “How are you? Erik has not told me that he knows you.”

Warren gasped dramatically, seemingly oblivious to the still-ready-to-fight X-Men, clutching his chest as he turned to Erik. “You haven’t told Storm about me? I am _offended_.”

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,” Erik said with a shrug.

“Well, we are meeting now,” Ororo said, giving Warren a smile. “Again, I suppose.”

“I don’t really count the whole Apocalypse part of my life,” Warren said. “So this is _basically_ the first time we’re meeting.”

A low, angry sound came from Scott, and the three ex-Horsemen turned to the other mutant.

“You don’t ‘count’ the time you spent hurting people?”

Ah. Yes. _Alex_. Erik hadn’t realised that Scott would consider holding Warren responsible.

“Not for my list of people I met, I don't,” Warren said. Although he sounded easy going, Erik could feel the tensing of his wings as the metal shifted. “Obviously, I hurt people and I am deeply, deeply sorry for that. I very much count that time for, like, most other things.”

He did; he’d shown Erik the list he’d made, where he’d written down the names of everyone who he knew he’d hurt or killed in his life. From when he was sixteen and forced to fight in the cages to when he was twenty and sold his soul for a second chance with wings.

Erik was at fault for his actions; he knew that. But he didn’t think Warren was anywhere close to the same ballpark.

“You have scars.” The words were sharp and sudden, and made all the X-Men take pause as Kurt spoke them. “Like mine.” The young blue mutant, who Erik thought looked _far_ too much like Raven and Azazel to be a coincidence, pointed to the raised lines decorating his face.

Warren nodded, raising a hand to brush against the angry red scars from the metal Erik had removed for him. “I do.”

Kurt disappeared from the stairs in a puff of smoke, and then reappeared a few metres away from Warren. The familiar smell of sulphur only confirmed Erik’s suspicions of the boy’s parentage.

“When did you get them?” Kurt asked, curious. “You did not have them before, I would…I would be remembering them.”

“Erik removed the stupid metal from my face,” Warren said, oddly soft. “You know, the stuff that Apocalypse put there? We met before that happened.”

Confusion flickered across Kurt’s face, which then morphed into an understanding. “ _Oh_. I am getting it.”

“You are?” Scott asked, looking almost…unbalanced.

Kurt turned back to his friend with a small smile that showed off his teeth. “I do. Angel has scars. Like me.”

“None of that explains the smell of smoke,” Hank cut in.

Kurt took it as a cue to teleport away, next to Jean by the kitchen door, but Warren was left looking after him with an expression Erik didn’t want to understand.

“No, it doesn’t,” Erik agreed pleasantly, happy to be distracted.

“So?”

Raising an eyebrow, Erik asked, “So what?”

“What _does_ explain the smell of smoke?”

“That’s a very interesting question, Hank,” Erik said, laughter glinting in his eyes. “I suppose the smoke would explain the smell.”

Hank let out a low growl; a new voice, Charles’, cut him off.

“Don’t be obtuse, Erik.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charles,” Erik returned, turning to smile at his old friend as he rolled down the corridor from the direction of his office.

Charles sighed, pretending his mouth wasn’t curving with amusement. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh my god,” Jean muttered to Kurt. “Can’t they get a room already?”

Kurt nodded. “I agree,” he muttered back. “I am also thinking that the Professor and Erik should be getting a room.”

While Hank choked on his horror, Charles chuckled and spun his wheelchair to properly look at Warren. The young mutant straightened.

“You are Warren, then?”

“Yes,” Warren said. Erik could almost hear the bitten off ‘sir’.

“It’s good to meet you properly,” Charles said. “I have heard so much about you from Erik.”

Warren nodded, the motion stiff. “Err, you too. On both counts.”

Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to introduce the son of a rich asshole to an even richer man. Erik knew Worthington wasn't at all similar to Charles, in any other way, but...trauma didn't always see the difference when confronted by familiarity.

“I hope you’ll stay for a few days,” Charles continued, undeterred, “but I understand if you need to return to California.”

“California?” Erik asked.

Warren’s cheeks flushed red, and Erik realised that the kid had actually tanned since he’d last seen him. “I, uh. Got in contact with some of the protestors. I joined one of the groups.”

“You did?” Erik didn’t stop the surprise from echoing through his voice. “I’m impressed.”

“Is that an unusual occurrence?” Ororo asked, her brow creasing in pretend confusion; a moment later, she grinned.

It also startled a laugh out of Warren. “You’re right!”

“Erik is always far too impressed with everyone,” Ororo continued, and then her eyes flickered to one side, to the man who Erik had felt enter by the frame of his goggles. “Everyone who talks to him, that is,” she added, a little too loudly.

Sensing that that part wasn’t for his benefit, Erik returned his focus to Charles. “Is there any food left from dinner? Warren hasn’t eaten yet today.”

Pretending that he wasn’t bright red with embarrassment, Warren protested, “Have so!”

“I’m sure something can be found,” Charles said, amused. He raised an eyebrow at Jean and Kurt. “Could the two of you go with Warren for that? I need to have a little talk with Erik.”

Jean paused, and Erik checked his mental shields, but she must have gone for Warren because she then said, “Of course, Professor.”

It was only ten minutes later, when Charles and Erik had retreated to the privacy of Erik’s room, that Charles turned to him with an exasperated expression.

“Arson? Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess the focus kinda slipped from warren and erik for this chapter, huh? oh well, i enjoyed writing it


End file.
